Warmth
by Craft Rose
Summary: Hermione finds solace in her friendship with Harry. (Based on "Twentytwofourteen" by The Album Leaf)


Hermione awoke with a jolt, chest pumping.

It was the dead of night, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the tent, she took note of the fact that the lower bunk was empty. Harry was out again, keeping watch over their campsite; for Snatchers and other enemies. For months, she and her best friends had traveled all across the country in search for the Dark Lord's remaining horcruxes. It was a tedious, drudging — not to mention dangerous — thing to do, and although she was losing hope _fast_, she had never once considered the option of leaving. To her, there were no options. She would be there for Harry, no matter the consequences. Thick and thin. Death or worse. There was no limit.

And then there was Ron.

Three weeks had passed, since he'd abandoned them.

She couldn't erase the image of him from her mind, no matter how hard she tried. It was there, etched to the inner walls of her subconscious — like a tattoo. His fiery hair. His eyes. His laughter.

His embrace. His quick temper, even. Everything. Every part of him, from the freckles scattered along his cheeks and nose, to the way he'd catch himself staring at her when he thought no one was looking. During meals over the campfire, and in the middle of the night, when he'd return to the tent after a night of keeping lookout.

Those memories weighed down on her like a ton of bricks, causing her to lose focus on the most mundane things. It started like that, (burning supper, oversleeping, misplacing items, etc) and quickly escalated to a recurring nightmare, of Ron captured and tortured by Death Eater forces.

If she was lucky, the nightmares would end before he drew his last breath. But on nights like the one before her, she was forced to endure each and every second of torture; until his cries for help came to a staggering, heart-stopping close.

Stricken by the onslaught of worried emotion, Hermione lifted the bedcovers from her body and slipped both feet into her worn, weathered trainers, before making her way outside. It was dark out — around midnight, if she had to guess — and as she suspected, Harry was seated by the fire, with a canteen of water in one hand, and his wand of phoenix feather core in the other. Judging by the droop of his eyelids (and the fact that he hadn't yet noticed her) his shift was almost over.

Another hour, and she was scheduled to start her shift. It had been easier, back when there were three of them. On top of the nightmares, Ron's departure had also left them on a stricter rotation with longer shifts. If Hermione kept lookout, Harry was asleep — and the same in vice versa. On occasion, they would keep lookout together, usually over a meal, but even those moments were beginning to feel as hollow as the others.

Something had to be done. Hermione exhaled, resolutely, and approached the campfire.

Harry turned and offered her a look of surprise, before glancing at the time on his wristwatch. It was broken, but he kept it out of habit. Also, because Ginny had given it to him the night before Bill and Fleur's wedding. The night before their lives had taken a drastic turn.

"You're early," he voiced, making room for her on the flat rock on top of which he was seated.

Hermione shrugged, lowering beside him and holding both hands to the campfire, struggling to keep warm. It had been chilly in the tent, even under three blankets. More than anything — more than hearty food, clean clothes and a comfy bed — she craved warmth. It was a natural thing, she supposed, to have ones existence stripped down to essentials, like fire and clean drinking water. Supplies were running short, and time was no different.

The seasons had changed, and still, Harry was no closer to defeating Voldemort.

But the threat of being defeated grew closer each day.

"You should head in and rest," she advised, nodding her head to the tent. "I'll keep watch."

Harry studied her, carefully. It was no secret to him that she'd been having nightmares, that she couldn't sleep for more than an hour without waking up hot and sweaty, and ridden with panic. Most times, he chose not to address the issue, but it was becoming harder and harder to cope with the fact that they were alone, and could quite literally have been living the last of their days in the middle of nowhere, with only each other.

"If you need to talk about anything…" he started.

Hermione stared deadpan into the fire. "I'm fine," she inserted. "Just a little homesick."

Though he didn't seem at all convinced, he let the topic slide and proceeded to drape his thick, traveling cloak over her shoulders. It was the start of winter and the winds were strong, carrying nothing but frigid cold; the sort of cold that went bone deep. Although it hadn't yet snowed, the change in season meant minimal food sources and many, many sleepless nights. Soon, the pair of them would have no choice but to travel into one of the nearby towns and gather supplies. It was high risk, seeing as Death Eater forces were scattered all over the country, gathering intel on the Order, and Harry's whereabouts. Most people assumed he was hiding out in America, as he had intended for them to believe. Nobody, not even Ginny or Professor Lupin, knew where he was or what he was doing. Hermione and Ron were the only ones privy to such information, and although Ron had since left them on their journey, he was nothing if not fiercely loyal.

Again, thoughts of him flooded her mind.

"Hungry?" the Chosen One asked.

Hermione glanced in his direction, and observed as he withdrew a crumpled crisps packet from his back pocket, extended towards her. She stared at him, amused. "You _do_ know that's empty — don't you?"

He wore a knowing look, smiling at her. "Use your imagination," Harry instructed, reaching into the packet with his free hand and drawing nothing but air. Regardless, he closed his eyes and bit off what looked like an invisible piece of chocolate. "Honeyduke's Milk Chocolate," he said to her, savouring the imaginary item. "Now it's your go."

She watched him a moment, returning his smile despite the ache in her heart. It was clear to her, what he was doing and why, and although she had just woken up from another horrific nightmare moments ago, her mood was lifted by this kind and simple gesture — in an instant. To her, the small things mattered most, and Harry knew that.

Hermione reached into the empty packet. "My nan's mince pies," she decided, remembering in the back of her mind, that Christmas was fast approaching. More than anyone, she missed her nan. Their bond was close, and Hermione didn't live a day without thinking of her nan. Roughly one month before her acceptance into Hogwarts, Judith Granger had passed of old age. It was a difficult time for Hermione, but her new life as a witch helped to curb the loss.

"Pumpkin Pasties," Harry then said, undoubtedly thinking of Hogwarts. Most probably, the start of term feast, with which they had been welcomed in their first year.

Hermione thought for a short while, before landing on something. "Butterbeer."

"Wait a second — that's not food," the young wizard countered, closing his lips the moment he remembered what butterbeer tasted like, and what he would have done to have the smallest, most insignificant drop. "Maybe we should head to that wizarding village tomorrow. One visit to the pub couldn't hurt…"

"You know we can't," Hermione said to him, regrettably. "If we're seen…"

Harry glanced down, nodding once. "I know. I just — I thought it might be nice."

Unfortunately, what little money they had was spent towards necessities — like food and hygiene products — as opposed to frivolous items like butterbeer and chocolate. Both of them knew that, and although Harry had been good about it thus far, Hermione could tell he was beginning to lose his conviction. War did that to people. No matter how old, how strong or how wise. There was no discrimination.

Hermione studied the look on her best friend's face, recognizing the twitch of his bottom lip and the manner in which he quickly hid it with a smile. Even so, his eyes didn't lie. She could see the emotion in them — the emptiness, the rage and the staggering guilt.

"Go on inside," she told him, placing her hand on his shoulder, comfortingly. "Get some rest."

"I'm not tired," he lied, staring into the fire. "I'd prefer to stay outside, if that's okay."

Hermione looked at him, worried lines streaking her forehead. "And if you catch a cold?"

"Then I'll catch a cold," he shrugged, tossing some twigs into the fire. "I'd prefer being out here, with you, than in that tent alone."

She fixed her attention ahead, sharing his disposition. It was neither loneliness nor desperation, but a merger of the two. The slow, but steady reminder that the very foundation on top of which their world was built, was beginning to crumble; that everything they held dear could disappear without a moment's notice. _That _was war. _That _was fear. _That _was loss.

Hermione breathed in, sustaining what little conviction she could.

"Sorry for being such a downer," Harry said to her, noting the change in her expression, the way those brown orbs exposed her hidden truths. In that same moment, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tilted his head down, levelling with hers. "We'll survive this," he whispered. "I know it."

Though his efforts were appreciated, she knew he didn't believe the words that left his lips — not wholly.

Hermione glanced down. "It's okay to be scared," she voiced. "I know I'm scared."

"Are you?" he asked.

She nodded, flicking her eyes at him. "Terrified."

Harry waited a moment, before saying anything. "I'm scared, too…" he admitted, distant and present all at once. "I just — I've never known anyone like you lot. Before Hogwarts, I had no idea what it meant to have friends, to have people in my life that weren't forced on me. I suppose, most of all, I'm terrified of losing that, of losing my friends, my loved ones…" he said, looking to her, inviting her into his thoughts and his fears, with nothing but a glance. "I — I don't know what I'll do if I lose you, Granger."

She blinked, dampening her lashes. "You'll carry on S.P.E.W. in my stead, of course."

He smiled inwardly. "Of course."


End file.
